"Роджер Желязны. Lord of Light (Лорд Света, engl) " - читать интересную книгу автора

Brahma loafed upon the edge of the heated pool, where he bathed with
his harem. His eyes appeared closed, as he leaned there upon his elbows, his
feet dangling in the water.
But he stared out from beneath his long lashes, watching the dozen
girls at sport in the pool, hoping to see one or more cast an appreciative
glance upon the dark, heavily muscled length of his body. Black upon brown,
his mustaches glistened in moist disarray and his hair was a black wing upon
his back. He smiled a bright smile in the filtered sunlight.
But none of them appeared to notice, so he refolded his smile and put
it away. All their attention lay with the game of water polo in which they
were engaged.
Ili, the bell of communication, buzzed once more, as an artificial
breeze waited the odor of garden jasmine to his nostrils. He sighed. He
wanted so for them to worship him-- his powerful physique, his carefully
molded features. To worship him as a man, not as a god.
But though his special and improved body permitted feats no mortal man
could duplicate, still he felt uneasy in the presence of an old war horse
like Lord Shiva-- who, despite his adherence to the normal body matrix,
seemed to hold far more attraction for women. It was almost as if sex were a
thing that transcended biology; and no matter how hard he tried to suppress
the memory and destroy that segment of spirit, Brahma had been born a woman
and somehow was woman still. Hating this thing, he had elected to incarnate
time after time as an eminently masculine man, did so, and still felt
somehow inadequate, as though the mark of his true sex were branded upon his
brow. It made him want to stamp his foot and grimace.
He rose and stalked off toward his pavilion, past stunted trees that
twisted with a certain grotesque beauty, past trellises woven with morning
glory, pools of blue water lilies, strings of pearls swinging from rings all
wrought of white gold, past lamps shaped like girls, tripods wherein pungent
incenses burnt and an eight-armed statue of a blue goddess who played upon
the veena when properly addressed.
Brahma entered the pavilion and crossed to the screen of crystal, about
which a bronze Naga twisted, tail in teeth. He activated the answering
mechanism.
There was a static snowfall, and then he faced the high priest of his
Temple in Mahartha. The priest dropped to his knees and touched his caste
mark three times upon the floor.
"Of the four orders of gods and the eighteen hosts of Paradise,
mightiest is Brahma," said the priest. "Creator of all. Lord of high Heaven
and everything beneath it. A lotus springs forth from your navel, your hands
churn the oceans, in three strides your feet encompass all the worlds. The
drum of your glory strikes terror in the hearts of your enemies. Upon your
right hand is the wheel of the law. You tether catastrophes, using a snake
for rope. Hail! See fit to accept the prayer of your priest. Bless me and
hear me, Brahma!'
"Arise . . . priest," said Brahma, having forgotten his name. "What
thing of mighty importance moved you to call me thus?"
The priest arose, cast a quick glance upon Brahma's dripping person and
looked away again.
"Lord," said the priest, "I did not mean to call while you were at